


I’ll do what I can.

by JessKo



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars: Thrawn Series - Timothy Zahn (2017)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon Divergence, Idiots in Love, M/M, Mutual Pining, No Treason Spoilers, Pining, Solitary Confinement, Wrongful Imprisonment
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-30
Updated: 2019-07-30
Packaged: 2020-07-26 00:27:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,339
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20034817
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JessKo/pseuds/JessKo
Summary: Orson swore under his breath. “It should have been enough. You’ve been more than loyal, a hard worker for the Empire!”Reaching between the guards, Brierly patted the shorter man on the shoulder, offering a sympathetic look. “I knew this was coming. It’s alright.” No, it really was not. The Empire should be above such pettiness. But, alas, it was not.Offering a tight lipped smile, Orson nodded. “I’ll do what I can.”Brierly knew there was not much that could be done, but clung to that shred of hope as best as he could. He’d need it. “I know.”





	I’ll do what I can.

**Author's Note:**

> After reading Thrawn: Treason, I just had to write something with Ronan and Krennic.   
It is canon divergent from the book, if you read it you know what I really changed. Everything lol. If you did not read Treason yet, well, this is hardly a spoiler since most of it is very different. 
> 
> So in short, none of this is remotely close to the events of the book, I just wanted to have some fun in the sandbox that is Star Wars. Enjoy~

So that was it, hm? Years upon years of dedication and loyalty to Director Krennic, to the Empire, all thrown out the window. All because Thrawn couldn't keep his nose out of alien affairs. So be it, he had his chance to run, but Brierly Ronan was not a traitor like that Vanto person, so now he was to atone for the crimes of the many. Hardly fair, but it was what it was. The decision was final. 

As the trooper escort lead him out of the Imperial Palace on Coruscant, Brierly heard the familiar swish of a long cape approaching. He had already been stripped of his own, along with his prized colonel’s insignias plaque and rank cylinders. 

“Brierly! Wait up!” Yes, it was Director Orson Krennic. 

“Sir.” Brierly responded, not entirely turning to look at his former superior. Slowing down was not exactly an option with the troopers following so close behind, but he tried to shorten his steps. 

“I did everything I could but-“ Orson spat out, exasperated. Brierly sighed. 

“I know. And I thank you for your compelling case for me.” Truly, Krennic had put up a fight, protesting the loss of his most trusted assistant. But the Emperor’s word was law, and Brierly was given a life sentence. Perhaps, he mused, in a few years he might be permitted leave to a labor camp. 

Orson swore under his breath. “It should have been enough. You’ve been more than loyal, a hard worker for the Empire!” 

Reaching between the guards, Brierly patted the shorter man on the shoulder, offering a sympathetic look. “I knew this was coming. It’s alright.” No, it really was not. The Empire should be above such pettiness. But, alas, it was not.

Offering a tight lipped smile, Orson nodded. “I’ll do what I can.” 

Brierly knew there was not much that could be done, but clung to that shred of hope as best as he could. He’d need it. “I know.” And then, he was escorted into a turbolift where the troopers separated him from Orson, and the rest of the Empire, heading straight down into the bowls of the palace, the detention block. 

Should just be called a dungeon, Brierly thought to himself. The detention block was on the same level as many utilities, so the air was warm and damp, uncomfortable in every sense. Passing a guard station, Brierly was lead down a hall lined with durasteel doors. Mid way down the hall, he was ordered to halt, and a door slid open with the click of a heavy duty lock disengaging. 

Brierly paused to assess the space, small and barren aside from a grated floor and a hard bench. Then, without warning, a trooper shoved him inside. Lurching forward, Brierly’s knee connected with the edge of the bench. The door was latched shut again before he even had a chance to hiss in pain. 

“I’m not an animal!” He exclaimed under his breath. Collecting himself, Brierly sat on the bench, noting that a panel of it could be lifted to reveal a toilet. There were no other surprises, and soon a sheen of sweat collected on his brow. Loosening the collar of his tunic was a start, but soon he stripped himself of that, and his knee high boots. Might as well get comfortable, he mused, only fifty years to go. 

Carefully folding the tunic, he stuck it behind his head as he leaned back, carefully styled hair already falling flat, loose strands hanging in front of his eyes. Absentmindedly, Brierly tucked the locks behind his ears. “Oh Brierly, what have you gotten yourself into this time…” 

Brierly had to admit, as long as he had been in the Empire, he had no clue how its prison system worked. He was not sure what to expect, but looked forward to at least some human contact when food was delivered, or to be lead to a showering facility. But it soon became apparent that this was not the case. 

Every function in the damn cell was automated, from a tray of protein gruel sliding in from a panel in the wall, to the far corner’s ceiling opening for two minutes of lukewarm shower water to fall from the ceiling every forty eight hours, a packet of soap joining his ration on the meal before the shower his only warning that it was coming. He missed the first shower entirely trying to fumble out of his sweat soaked clothing. When the second came, he was waiting, sitting nude on the bench after the meal was had. Any sense of modesty Brierly had was already starting to dampen seeing that he really was alone in the little grey box he now called home. 

It was not for a week that Brierly figured out what the narrow chute that opened after bathing was. His best guess was a trash receptacle for the packet, but that made little sense seeing he could send it back with the mean tray. So, it remained a mystery until it spat a bright orange jumpsuit back on the fourth time it opened. Of course, laundry. 

But, being a rather vain and sentimental man, Brierly refused to send his personal uniform down that shaft, folding it away on the corner of the bench. Also, it had proved to be a somewhat agreeable cushion. Besides, there was no promise he would get it back. 

It pained him to slip into the jumpsuit, only going to far to cover his legs before tying the arms around his waist, but he didn't want to dirty the uniform any more than it was already. 

This day, something would finally happen to break up the mind numbing monotony of it all. The sudden loud click of the lock disengaging scared Brierly to the point where he jumped off the bench, rising into parade rest on instinct alone. 

“Ah, Brierly. At ease.” 

Brierly could not believe it, standing before him was Orson, looking the same as always, impeccable. And here he was, hair greasy and uncombed, orange jumpsuit only half on, long tan stubble nearly reaching the point of being more than just a shadow. He hoped the smile crossing his lips now would outweigh the utter wreck he was sure he appeared. 

“Orson!” Stepping forward, Brierly held out his arms as if to hug his former superiors, but a gloved hand caught him square in the chest, shoving him back into the cell firmly. 

“Stay back, traitor!” Of course. Orson was on the other side of the threshold. One of the stormtroopers had ensured that the prisoner did not attempt to escape. 

Rubbing the spot where he had been struck, Brierly noted that Orson had somewhat cringed at the gesture. That was good, at least, he thought. 

“I brought you something. Well, tried to. The bottle was delightful, an artisanal vessel really, but regulation deemed it be put into something… Safer. Here.” Lowering himself, Orson placed a plastic cup on the floor, filled nearly to the brim with a bright blue liquid with little bubbles rising to the top. The troopers shifted uncomfortably at the director reaching into the cell, but did not move to stop him. 

“Utaupan champagne.” Brierly uttered, noticing that Orson had not removed his hand from the cup. Squatting, he accepted the gift, bare fingers brushing against a leather glove. “Thank you, Orson. I am glad to see that you are well.” 

Brierly was certain he sounded rehearsed and dull, and rather pathetic, but his mind was racing at the sudden stimulation of actual contact with another living being so much that he was surprised he could even parse a coherent sentence. 

“I’m not giving up on you.” Orson added flatly. 

“Time’s up.” A trooper grunted, and Orson’s expression fell, where Brierly’s deflated entirely. 

“Visit again…” Brierly pleaded, eyes wide. 

“I promi-” Cut off by the locking door, Orson disappeared, the cell now seeming twice as lonely than before. Raising the cup to his lips reverently, Brierly took a small sip. The drink had been cut with so much water it had might as well be swill, but he could hardly care, the taste to him stronger than the hottest Corellian liquor. 

It was nearly a month before Orson visited again. Brierly felt as if he were going mad, shifting from a life of hard work and thoughtfulness to being utterly idle and understimulated. But then, the door latch sounded and he was on his feet. This time, Orson crossed the threshold, just the tip of his boot, but it was still something more. 

“Brierly.” He greeted, face grave. 

“Orson. I’ve missed you.” Brierly took a step forward, knowing he must look even worse than last time but not caring. He wanted so much. To take Orson’s hand, to pull him close. Lock his arms around him in an embrace. Stars permitting, press their lips together to admit the feelings he knew they both had but never had the right moment to share. 

But the clacking of shifting troopers, their armor rubbing against itself, pulled Brierly out of his trance. He’d settle for just looking, studying every detail of the Director. He hated to admit it, but in all this time he’d forgotten the exact shade of blue of Orson’s eyes. 

“I don’t have any gifts for you.” Orson admitted. 

“Just seeing you is gift plenty.” Brierly assured, hoping his thinly veiled joy translated into his words. “I’ve been so lonely.” 

“I know. I’ve not given up.” 

“Thank you.” 

Today’s guard must have been in a foul mood. Perhaps his supervisor had been harsh, or there was some unseen task needing his attention, but Orson was pulled out of the doorway, the lock engaging once again to block out the rest of an angry tirade. “Do not lay your hands on-!” 

Exhaling slowly, Brierly slumped down on the bench, holding his head in his hands. With a disgusted grunt, he flung his head back, not wanting to deal with the fact that he’d grown out a beard. Just like a proper traitor said some base and impulsive voice in the back of his head. The same one that had doubted the Emperor. He grimly considered if that was the true reason he rotted away here in Palpatine’s dungeon. If the rumors that he could read minds were true…

No, Brierly stopped his thoughts, he would not dwell on this. Today had been a good day. He’d had a visitor.

Perhaps, he thought with a sly smile and a dash of insanity, next time Orson came he’d not wear pants. Perhaps that would entice the Director to step forward, enter the personal space he so wanted to be invaded and removed from between them.

Much to Brierly’s amazement, something even more drastic occurred on Orson’s next visit, once again after a month of waiting. The door had opened to the sight of him showering. For a moment, Orson and Brierly just stared at each other, brown eyes meeting blue. Then, Orson’s eyes flicked down, tracing every inch of Brierly’s body in a brief glance. 

Despite the cool water, Brierly flushed a hot, bright red. “O-Orson! Hello, um, I…” 

“If you are busy I can…” 

“No!” Brierly interrupted, stepping out of the stream of water to cover himself with a threadbare towel wrapped around his waist. “It’s alright.” 

Brierly did not care about the long hair sticking to his cheek, or that there was still soap on him, all that mattered was this moment where he could pretend he was, in some way, free. 

“Here.” Orson extended a hand, a small metal device in his grasp. Brierly did not hesitate to reach out for it, but he did hesitate in taking it, breath evacuating his lungs as he realized Orson wore no glove. His hand was large yet delicate, with the calluses of an artist. When their contact did end, Orson raised his finger to his nose, inhaling the scent of soap and recycled water. 

“I expect you to be presentable at my next visit. Something might just work out for us, and I’ll need you ready for an audience.” 

“Yessir!” Brierly exclaimed, practically vibrating in anticipation. 

“Be careful with that.” Orson added with a slight chuckle. “Looks like it has been a while since you have used one.” 

Realizing the item was a hair trimmer, Brierly laughed. “Of course, thank you.” 

And then, like clockwork, time was up. As soon as the lock engaged, Brierly activated the clipped, a low buzz filling the cell. And then, he got to work, using the somewhat reflective surface of the door to guide himself, careful to take his time. He’d hate to nick himself and disappoint Orson like that, disregarding direct instruction to ensure a smooth and clean shave. 

Finishing his face after a long and meticulous process, Brierly ran his hand along a smooth cheek for the first time in months, feeling like a new man. Then came his hair. He’d always had a stylist for this part, and Cienna was truly the best, but he’d watched her work so often Brierly figured he had nothing to loose and attacked the limp strands of his hair. 

It was by no means a great job, but anything was better than dead ends and knots, and Brierly was eventually satisfied with the short trusses he produced. Then, Brierly considered, came the tuft of hair between his legs. By presentable could Orson mean… Surely not. But then again, what else was there to do? 

At first, Brierly had left some length to it. Then after another pass it was stubble. But that itched something nasty, so finally his pelvic region became as smooth as his cheeks. Just in case. 

Brierly decided to indulge himself, just this once, on the thought that Orson could desire him in such a way. 

With newfound hope and purpose, this month passed quicker than most, still dreadfully long but not as horrible as the past. 

When the door clicked open, Brierly Ronan was ready, even donning a uniform he had spent a shower a few days before washing, using his body heat and weight to press out the wrinkles. 

“Brierly Ronan.” A cool voice said, shocking Brierly to his core. It was not Orson, but Grand Admiral Thrawn, looking just as spotless and sterile as he last saw him. 

Mood plummeting down lower than Brierly had felt since being sentenced to this hell, Brierly growled deep in his throat. 

“Admiral. What do you want?” 

“Director Krennic has been rather… Persistent in his begging, and I decided to give you a second chance the next time I was visiting Coruscant.” 

So this was Orson’s audience? A lecture from the traitorous Chiss. “Spit it out.” 

If Thrawn was bothered by Brierly’s brashness, he did not show it. “I will ask you again to reconsider my offer. My next patrol brings me to the outer rim, and from there I can assure you safe passage to the Chiss Ascendancy.” 

Brierly actually considered this. It would be an escape from this box, but only to enter another, join an empire he had no ties to, no loyalty with. But… Was this what Orson wanted for him. Time was surely short, however Brierly saw no guards. He dared ask a condition. 

“I accept your offer, with one stipulation.” 

“Yes?” Thrawn seemed intrigued, or perhaps surprised at the bold offer. 

“I demand to see Orson Krennic, in private, once before leaving Imperial Space.” 

Thrawn took an excruciatingly long moment deliberating this. Brierly held his breath. 

“Very well.” Then, two black-clad death troopers entered the room, binding Brierly’s hands behind his back. “You will be escorted to the Chimaera, where you will be held in the detention block for the journey. I will ensure that you have time for your farewell.” 

“Thank you, Admiral.” 

When he wasn’t sleeping or eating, Brierly paced the small cell he was assigned to on the Chimaera. Any moment, he knew, Orson would walk through the door, cross the threshold, and then they could… 

Brierly froze. Would Orson reciprocate? He’d been running his ideal scenario over and over in his head so long, he never stopped to consider if it was even realistic. Sinking down to the floor, Brierly tugged his short hair, clawing at his scalp. He pressed his forehead against his knees, already feeling the tears coming. The tears he had fought so hard not to shed for so long… 

Orson had never expressed much romantic interest in… Anything really. The only love he had was his work. His models and schematics. But yet… He’d always had a certain softness towards Brierly. If he did not feel anything for him, would he had visited so often? Made the arrangements with Thrawn, who obviously did not want to comply to the plan but had been worn down by Orson’s passionate pleas. 

So completely undone, Brierly did not hear the door open, or the steps approaching. When a hand placed itself on his shoulder, he jolted, the contact buzzing through him like lighting. 

Squatting before him, cape trailing on the floor behind him, fanned out like the wings of an angel, was Orson Krennic, a concerned expression on his face. “Brierly…” 

He tried to stammer out Orson’s name, but just sniveled, wiping his nose on his sleeve. Then, not having anything left to lose, Brierly sat up on his knees and leaned in, wrapping his arms around Orson’s neck, his ear brushing up against Orson’s own. 

Orson immediately reciprocated the gesture, leaning against Brierly until they both lost balance, falling down to the floor with a thump. But, they did not break the embrace, Brierly cherishing every centimeter of contact against the other man. 

“Thank you.” He finally managed to whisper. 

Something was mumbled, but all Brierly could hear was his heart thrumming in his ears. Orson pulled back a bit, breath tickling along Brierly’s face. 

“Yeah?” Orson asked, out of breath somehow, looking mischievous. 

Brierly only blinked in response. “Huh?” 

Orson shook his head. “Oh, just shut up and kiss me.” 

And so they did, at first a violent and needy clash of teeth and tongue, but it unraveled into a slow pace. Brierly lathed his tongue across Orson’s teeth, and the director responded with a gentle nibble to his lip, pulling Ronan in closer still. 

“Hells, why did we wait so long…” Brierly pouted, suddenly regretting waiting so long knowing this would be his first and only chance at a decade long crush. 

Groaning, Orson leaned back a bit. “Fraternization rules, imprisonment, all sorts of reasons. What matters now is that… I’m coming with you.” 

Brierly thought his eyes might fall out of their sockets. “What? Really? Why?” 

“Slow down there, one question at a time. Let’s just say I got into a bit of trouble with the Emperor and, seeing that Thrawn is taking this little trip, figured a plus one would not be a big deal.” 

Brierly could not help but giggle. “Looks like we’re both traitors, then?” 

“That would make roughly thirty seven thousand of us.” A cold voice chimed in. 

Scrambling, Orson peeled himself from Brierly. “Thrawn! What are you doing here!” 

Thrawn shrugged. “You left the door open. But this is beside my point. I have spent far too long away from home, and my husband needs me. I’ve decided to take the entire  _ Chimaera _ to the Ascendancy.” The two men on the floor starred up blankly. “Do not worry. Any officers who wished to remain in the Empire were given ample opportunity to leave.” 

Brierly exhaled deeply. “Whoa.” 

“I’ll leave you two alone, then. The next patrol comes in roughly twenty minutes, so I suggest relocating to… More private quarters.” 

As the Chiss turned and left, both Orson and Brierly burst out laughing, pouncing right back on top of each other. 

“My place or yours?” Brierly joked. Orson beamed. 

“Mine should suffice. I’ve some Utaupan champagne to share, if you would care to indulge.” 


End file.
